Her Curse
by Kodukadvakch
Summary: A young girl is picked up off the streets and thrown into a completely new world: The Opera House. When a curious Phantom unlocks her talents, will he also be able to uncover her dark past? Full summary in Profile. Currently rewriting.
1. Her Curse

_Dear Readers,_

_After recently re-reading this work(And, after considering the many improvements needed), I have decided to re-write "Her Curse". My writing style over the last few months has changed drastically(Thanks to much practice), and I am just not pleased with how I have written this story. Therefore, I will be changing many things about it, adding more detail, and tying up loose ends. Don't worry! The general story line of "Her Curse" will remain the same. I just want to touch up on how I've portrayed my ideas. Hopefully this version of my fanfic will be greatly improved. I'm sure you'll enjoy it._

_Your Obedient Servant_

_-Kodu-_

* * *

1

Her Failure

The pain was unbearable, like knives slicing through her wrists, or like rocks jabbing her in the stomach. Tears streaked down her face as Juliet gazed up into the clear sky above. Sun splashed the Parisian rooftops with bursts of color, it's light twinkling like a friendly star through the reflection in the windows. A bird descended from the vast expanse of blue towering over her head, landing gracefully on two bony feet at the edge of one of the roofs; it's head lifted, beak parted, whistling gaily about the beauties of life and it's freedom.

What a magnificent bird.

So careless, happy...

Juliet grunted as she was slammed against a cold stone wall, the haze on her eyes lifting slightly as the shock caused her to blink. Her gaze become foggy once again, blocking out the memories that resurfaced when her vision cleared.

Not a care in the world...

Distantly she heard the sound of ripping fabric.

Nothing to mar it's beautiful existence...

The air outside seemed to drop several notches as an icy breeze blew past, curling around her stomach, whipping delicately at her loose auburn hair, swirling the torn pieces of her bodice upwards to lap gently at the tops of her breasts.

The bird dove into the air, catching a blast of wind under it's wings, and fluttered away, no longer to be a source of the girl's attentions.

Sadly, Juliet lowered her eyes, gazing at the dull gray wall before her; at the withered potted plants drooping gloomily against it; at the dark shadow advancing on her, it's clumsy feet shattering one of the clay holders; at the grubby man standing inches from her face, black and yellow teeth scraping disgustingly against her pale neck.

Why is my hair down? she thought distractedly, her mind spinning as it searched for answers to that insignificant question.

'Because he took it down,' she answered herself unconsciously.

And suddenly, all the memories came rushing back.

Darkness was the first thing that registered in her mind. It had been a constant companion throughout her life, hiding her from the scum of the streets. Keeping her safe from murderers, thieves...

...Rapists.

The man - _men_, seeing as another shadow stood off in the distance, no doubt awaiting his turn - fell into that last category.

The disgusting filth of the earth, seeking pleasures only a woman could provide, willing or not. Vile, retched beasts, obsessed with their thirst for power over the weaker sex. Unable to think beyond the needs of their lower bodies.

Rapists. Something either men were, are, or sought to be.

Juliet had had her share of troubles. Thievery, threats, accusations, propositions - for what, exactly, is not hard to imagine -, and even the danger of bodily harm. _Lower_ bodily harm, to be exact. These hardships had molded her into the person she was today: a spunky, smart-mouthed girl, the exact opposite of a true lady.

Over time, the emotional strain of homelessness weighing down her shoulders had hardened her heart. It taught her how to block out the feelings she gathered from situations, and eventually she learned to ignore those situations completely.

In short, she was desensitized.

Walking down a street, passing by as a nobleman was robbed, seemed a common occurance to her. Seeing a woman being raped was not her problem, so long as the men in question kept their hands far from herself. Children being mauled by homeless beggars merely for the two pence they carried in their pockets was normal.

The fire in her dark brown - nearly black - eyes used to be a roaring flame, lashing out at anything that threatened her or another like her. She had preserved innocence, eliminating criminals with ruthless fury. After years on the streets, her hot-headed attitude had cooled a bit, realization that she couldn't he held accountable for _everyone_ dawning on her.

Over time, her efforts dwindled down to nothing. Now it was _her_ time to survive, _her_ time to live, _her_ time to find a way out of that rat-infested hole called Paris.

Two calloused hands grabbed her shoulder roughly, slight purple-black bruises already forming on her ivory skin.

"Come on, darling," whispered a low, gruff voice. The man before Juliet slid his stubby fingers down the length of her arms, leaving ruddy brown grime in their wake, and gripped her wrists harshly.

...Such a beautiful sky...

The fire that had strengthened Juliet over the years became a spark, a tiny flicker in a soul of distraught darkness.

He jerked her forward, forcing the girl against his foul-smelling chest. Holding both her slender wrists in one hand, he placed the other on her neck and began stroking lower...

Such a beautiful bird...

When the flame blew out, so did her spirit.

...And lower...

And when her spirit died, so did her resistance.

...And lo-

"_What_," came a harsh voice, catching the attention of both men and causing them to turn towards the maker. " - do you think you are doing to that girl!"

Juliet blinked, gazed at the man in front of her, and actually _saw_ him for the first time.

"_Well?_" spoke the voice again.

This time Juliet turned her own head and squinted at the figure of a straight-backed, petite woman tapping an unneeded cane against the cobblestone streets. She could have laughed at the lady's audacity, had the situation not been so serious.

Using her appearance as a much-needed distraction, Juliet began to struggle against her captors greasy hands. The man not currently occupied with keeping the girl under control advanced slowly towards the woman.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? I don't usually like older women, but I could make an exception for y-OW!"

Striking him smartly across the nose with her cane, the stern-faced lady whacked him once more across the shoulder blades, causing the man to crumple to the ground with a muffled cry of pain.

Eyes wide at seeing his partner fallen, the other man latched onto Juliet's hair and jerked her body around to where her back was pressed up against his chest.

"_Merd_-"

The girl elbowed him in the stomach, then, as his grip loosened, turned around and kneed him in the lower regions. Needless to say, he nearly cracked his skull with the force of his dead weight making contact with the ground. With a satisfied smirk, she bowed to the man, and jabbed him in the side with her foot as she lifted upwards.

"Don't swear in front of ladies. It's very ungentlemanly like."

Turning towards her unlikely rescuer, Juliet gripped her shoulder and began dragging the lady away from the back alley they had just escaped from.

"Come with me, mademoiselle. I'll help y-OW!"

The woman rapt Juliet's knees sharply with the edge of her stick as they walked quickly along.

"What was that for?"

Snorting - something she never did - the sharp-featured Parisian woman turned her icy gaze onto the girl, stopping just outside the front doors of the Paris Opera House.

"That's _Madame_ Giry, to you, child. And you shall come with me. We must get you cleaned up, clothed -" She broke off to eye Juliet's ragged dress, torn from life on the streets and their recent encounter, with disdain. " - and fed. Ah, what am I to do with you? Where are your parents?"

Gazing at the magnificent building before them, trailing her dark eyes up the stone pillars and resting them on the many frozen figures above, it was easy for Juliet to pretend to ignore Madame Giry's words.

"Where are your parents, child?"

There it was again. That annoying feeling in the pit of her stomach that made her want to retch. Her knees nearly knocked together, her entire body shaking. Fist clenched and unclenched until they were stark white or bright red in turns.

"Where are your parents?" This time the Madame shook the girl lightly, causing Juliet to close her eyes and force herself into a state of calm.

She had used this trick many times before.

Where she bottled up the storm of emotions brewing inside of her, and took on a cold, collected façade.

She had done this before.

She would do it again.

And it would not fail her now.

"Dead," she whispered in an emotionless, monotone voice. Inside, she cringed, but outside, her mask was almost creepily calm.

Madame Giry made a small sound of recognition in the back of her throat, taking on the role of indifference. But her icy eyes had just gotten two shades warmer, and she unconsciously took a step closer towards the girl.

"What is your name, child?"

Juliet 'hmphed' and raised an eyebrow at the older woman beside her. "I am no one's child."

"Then what is your name?" Madame Giry's voice was strained now as her own hands clenched into fists.

The girl gazed thoughtfully at the immense, ornately decorated doors before her, a slight haze descending upon her near-black eyes.

"My name is my name, and no one else's. No one else deserves such a name. No one else is as innocent or as guilty in the same breath as I. My name is a gift and a curse, a burden and a joy. My name, Madame, is Juliet. Juliet Sa Malédiction. Remember that name."

"Come with me then, Juliet," she answered, sweeping her hand in the direction of the Opera House, her own voice toneless.

Juliet Sa Malédiction.

Remember that name.

It is both a gift and a curse.

Her curse.

* * *

_Dear Readers,_ _I do hope you enjoyed the first re-written chapter of "Her Curse". As you can see, it adds a lot more detail than the original chapter one (Which can be seen below, by the way) and moves much more slowly. I really enjoyed writing this story, but after re-reading it, had so many different ideas on how to voice my thoughts, I just HAD to do something about it. So please, review this story and tell me what you think! But, once again, **no flames**_

_Your Obedient Servant_

_-Kodu-

* * *

_

1

Her Failure

Madame Giry pulled a ragged young girl by the arm into the Paris Opera House, dragging her through the maze-like area backstage. "This will just not do," she kept telling the scratched-up, confused child. "I will not have little orphans running around the streets, dying, when there is plenty of honest work for them to do here." The fierce lady turned abruptly on the girl she was holding onto. "What is your name, child?" Juliet flinched at her hard features and stuttered. "J-Juliet. Juliet Sa Malédiction." Madame Giry eyed her suspiciously. "Why...?" but she let it drop. She then led her into a hallway where most of the rooms in the Opera House were stationed. She glanced around, looking annoyed for a while, before pushing open the door into a rather simple but beautiful room. "Here, this will be your room until we can find another in more appropriate quarters."

Juliet knew what she meant by appropriate. This room was too beautiful to be the living quarters of some homeless waif. "I will send for a bath and some clothing." The older woman's tone was still commanding but held a hint of kindness in it. "And, please, stay off the bed until we can get you cleaned up." Juliet watched as the lady walked out. She sunk to the floor and buried her head in her arms. Thoughts seemed to swirl around her head and make her dizzy. What had she been doing just before being whisked away into the Opera? The girl shuddered as she remembered. Those men were trying to...

Her heard lifted up and rested on top of her arms as she stared blankly at the mirror on the other side of the room. The dark, dark brown of her eyes reflected back to her and she was surprised by how much pain and sorrow she saw in them. Was that really how they looked? Juliet gazed at herself, willing tears to fall, but none ever came. What frightened her more than anything was her total lack of emotion towards the past few years of her life. Everything seemed like a dark and distant dream now.

Sure, the memory of it was painful but her soul told her it was over. And her mind told her that if her soul was wrong, so what? Nothing worse could happen. And her heart told her that if anything worse did happen then it would be over, eventually. If not sooner, then later. So, in that sense, things came full circle. Emotion was lost to her now, and Juliet didn't really care anymore.'Homeless child so lost and scared,

Life's burden is yours to hold.

But emotion is slowly fading,

As your heart grows dark and cold.'She sang softly to herself, not willing other ears to hear. She hummed the tune in her head and made a mental note to put it to paper sometime. But another set of ears heard her heartfelt melody behind the mirror she was so intently staring at.

The next day Juliet rose with the sun, as she always did. She put on one of the more simple dressed Madame Giry had provided for her and left her temporary room. Her bare feet made no sound on the soft hardwood floors as she progressed down the many winding passages of the Opera. Through her experience on the streets she knew how to be silent and blend in with her surroundings. Multiple times she had shrunk back into the shadows and watched a stagehand or something of the likes pass her by without the least bit of suspicion. A smile would spread across her face every time this happened. It was fun being sneaky, Juliet reasoned. But in her heart she knew it was that feeling of power - that she could jump out at any one of these people passing by, scare them out of their wits, and disappear once again - that is what gave her such a thrill.

It was still early morning, the people of the Opera just beginning to rise and fall into their daily routines, when Juliet stumbled across an abandoned hallway. The lights were turned off, cobwebs stuck to the ceiling, and there was no sound except for the creaking floor as Juliet advanced into the ominous space. She opened the first few doors on her right to find some empty rooms of no importance. But one room on the left, with the door ajar so she could see into it slightly, caught her attention. Without any thought for what might lay beyond, the young girl pushed the door open the rest of the way and gasped.

Delight glowed all over her face as she rushed into the room. It was bare except for a few curtains covering the windows and a beautiful piano sitting in the center of the room. As she advanced deeper into the deserted area, her heat beat rapidly at the sheer exquisiteness of what lay before her. The ceiling was high above her, the reason being that a balcony-like area wrapped around the entire room. It was too dark to see up there, but Juliet guessed there was a door leading to it from somewhere. An antique chandelier hung directly above the piano, it's carvings and decorations breathtaking but not too ornate.

She dusted off the piano to find it was of dark mahogany coloring and didn't seem to have a visible brand name. Her feet glided over towards the front of it and she sat herself down on the soft, padded bench. Juliet's hands shook as she slid back the wood covering up the piano's keys. She gasped as she got a good look at them. The ivory was a polished, glimmering white that stood in great contrast to the dusty outer appearance of the instrument.

She placed her hands on them, lightly gliding her fingers over each one. I haven't played in years, Juliet thought apprehensively, afraid of what noise might come out if she tried to play once again. She formed a chord in her hand and was about to press the keys when she heard her name being called softly, as if from a distance. Juliet jumped up and ran out the room towards the voice she recognized to be Madame Giry's. "Yes, yes! I'm here! I'm coming!"

Erik jumped down from the balcony area where he had been watching the girl from above. What had she been trying to do? He shook his head. He'd have to watch this girl. Something in her eyes, he had noticed it as she stared at him unknowingly through the mirror, was different. He wasn't sure if he liked it, or feared it. But either options unnerved him.

Madame Giry took Juliet by the arm fiercely. "Why weren't you in your room?" She asked sternly. Juliet's mind told her to be angry for being reprimanded in such a way, but she just didn't have the heart to argue at the moment. "I'm sorry, Madame. I was exploring the reaches of my new home." The woman just nodded and pulled Juliet on stage. "Girls!" she said to the young ballerinas. "This is Juliet. She's new here, so I suggest you treat her with respect. Meg!" The woman's young daughter, Meg Giry, quickly glided over to her mother. "Yes, mother?" "I would like you to be Mademoiselle Sa Malédiction's mentor." Meg nodded and introduced herself to Juliet.

"Pleased to meet you." She curtsied and Juliet instantly decided she like the girl. "Okay," Madame Giry continued. "Back to rehearsals. Do you dance, Juliet?" The girl shook her head. "No." "Nonsense! Watch the dance moves, I want you joining in." Juliet did as told and ended up stepping on the feet of the girl to her left repeatedly. Thankfully Madame Giry allowed her to stop before Juliet made a permanent enemy of the girl. "Well, then," the lady persisted. "You must surely sing?" Juliet gulped. "N-no." Madame Giry just rolled her eyes. "Stay here and you will practice with the choir girls next." Juliet, once again, did as told. On the lower notes she did fine and the Madame was pleasantly surprised to find her voice so sweet and natural. But as soon as they hit a high note Juliet's voice cracked and something like a screech came from her mouth.

Her face turned bright red as the other chorus girls broke out in laughter. They were silenced with one look from Madame Giry. "Well," she said, a look of defeat in her eyes. "I'm sure we'll find something you're good at." Juliet nodded her head, but inside her already laden heart was breaking. She was useless. Utterly useless.


	2. Moving In

2

Moving In

Gone.

Such a simple word.

Yet, in some strange way, that simple word evoked a storm of emotions. Pain was one of them; that much was obvious with the way he clutched at his chest, as if physically hurt. Grief, another, as bitter tears streamed down his face, filling his mouth with their salty trails. Regret, possibly, the feeling laced in his voice as he cried out. Things like joy, hope, and love...

Well, they had died long ago.

Dead and buried, for all he cared.

Rising up on one shaky knee, the Phantom slipped on his ebony gloves and flexed his fingers in the smooth leather. _Such large hands_, he noted absently, tickling the ivories of his piano as he glided past. Long, bony fingers stopped dead when he reached middle C as if on impulse, causing a broken laugh - choked with drying tears - to escape his perfect lips.

"And in my sorrow, music has always been my consoler."

He paused, bracing the limber appendages just above the smooth white keys. They twitched with excitement, anticipating the familiar brush of cold ivory beneath their pads.

"But...but not now."

Pulling his hands away quickly - reluctantly - the Opera Ghost twirled around, stalking over towards his writing desk with the grace of a cat. He bent down, the flicker of light from a nearby candle illuminating the left side of his face; darkness from towering shadows concealing the white porcelain mask. A strong, clean-shaven chin pointed towards the mahogany wood below him, the deepest of scowls twisting the lips above into a permanent frown. It was a shame, really, to see such a soft, delicate mouth constantly pulled into an expression of anger.

High cheekbones melded perfectly into his aristocratic nose, though the skin around his cheeks was pulled taught from lack of food. Deftly, he whipped out a small piece of parchment from one of the intricately designed drawers, pulling towards him the little jar of red ink he kept on the edge of the desk and a beautiful golden calligraphers pen.

Much use _that_ was, as his scraggly, childish hand butchered any otherwise flowing letters created by the writing tool.

"Perhaps," he whispered, the depths of his deep blue eyes shining with the familiar emotion of pain. "...Never again."

Music, the one thing in that deadly, unforgiving world to have filled the void in his heart, had become a void itself. What had once evoked passions and emotions deprived of him was now emotionless. The outlet for his anger was now a source of frustration. Music, his love, had become his mortal enemy. For, every time he touched bow to violin string, he thought of _her_. Every time he hummed a measure from _Faust_, he heard _her_ voice. Each caress of a piano's ivories had become a caress to _her_ delicate cheek.

"...Oh...Christine..."

The name sounded like a prayer on his lips; so reverent and holy one could not help but have the urge to bow one's head or kneel.

Christine.

Music.

Both were one and the same.

And both had broken him.

The first, for the love of another man. The other just seemed to follow in suite. When Christine left, it seemed only appropriate for music to flee as well.

Abandoned, betrayed, and alone in the darkness, Erik had suffered the consequences of tearing his carefully constructed walls down. His icy heart had melted and, being left without protection, was shattered into millions of tiny pieces by the hands of the very woman he had loved.

Had loved?

Did he still love Christine?

Love signified complete devotion, complete trust. Love surrendered a person's body, mind, and spirit to the one who claimed their heart. Love was absolute; the most pure emotion to ever show its face on this earth, in this lifetime. One would die for love, one would kill for love, and one would _live_ for love.

And yet, love was too weak of an emotion to express what he felt for his angel.

Love was not enough.

He felt _more_.

He needed _more_.

The ghost's hand wavered, causing the "G" in his initials to form what looked like a "C" with a tail on the end.

"Love...a thing unknown to me." Folding the paper carefully, Erik slid the note inside a black embroidered envelope.

"A thing denied me..." Pouring a large drop of hot wax onto the flap, he sealed the letter with a morbid, grinning skull.

The note held in the tips of his long fingers, the Phantom lifted up from his seat before the intricately designed desk and strode over towards a large, gaping hole near the edge of his abode. Slipping inside the darkness, only the whisper of his voice betrayed his whereabouts in the cavernous hallway.

"An emotion my heart is incapable of feeling..."

The swish of his cloak against the ground...

"But what do ghosts feel, anyways?"

...and he was gone.

* * *

"Ever since reconstruction began for the Opera Populairé, we have been in need of staff. After the...accident... half of our workers left Paris seeking employment elsewhere. When word got out of the Opera House's reopening, employees from before were reluctant to come back."

Waving her hands as if the emphasize this point, Madame Giry pointed out the many various work rooms on the way to the dormitories. Most, if not all, were empty, save for the random stagehand loitering about, taking sips of a half-empty bottle of beer.

Wrinkling her brows in confusion, Juliet tried to juggle the tasks of memorizing the maze-like corridors she was winding through, admiring the ornate decorations adorning every other inch of the Opera Populairé, listening to the Madame, and formulating a response all at once. In short, she had a headache, and it was growing fast.

"But...why? From what I've heard, the Opera House was a marvel in it's day. Everybody who was anybody could be found chatting in the private boxes surrounding the stage. Wouldn't the previous actors, actresses, dancers, etc., be clamoring to find employment here once again?"

Stopping, the strict ballet instructor turned her head to the side. One eye, shining with an emotion the girl couldn't quite place, stared off at the charred wallpaper peeling from the old wooden boards in that hallway.

"One would think..." And with a swish of black skirts, she set off again; her stride just as haughty and sure as before.

Juliet thought she could hear the woman murmuring something under her breath, but dismissed the idea. Madame Antoinette Giry did not seem like the kind of woman who mumbled. She did not seem like a lot of things, though.

Rescuer being one of them, the girl thought wryly, remembering the satisfyingly sweet sound of the lady's hard cane making contact with her attacker's skull.

Realizing she had been drifting off, Juliet shook her head and forced herself to listen to the Madame.

"...the daring old man he is, bought the Opera Populaire from the previous managers. The change will be, hopefully, for the better."

Tipping her head to the side, Juliet let out a long, hot breath. "I'm sorry, Madame. What was that?"

Madame Giry stopped, gave the girl an accusing look, sighed as if using Juliet's life as a street urchin as an excuse for her incompetence, and shook her head. "Monsieur Daniels is to be our new manager, having bought the Opera House on a whim, one day. No doubt he was drunk while signing the contract, with how expensive this burnt down building had been."

Ignoring her last statement, the girl quirked an eyebrow. "Daniels? That doesn't sound very French."

"It isn't. He's American."

Her brows went to her hairline. "American?"

Echoing ten fold through the empty hallway, Juliet's voice could be heard, reiterating that statement painfully louder with each passing second. The Madame had to stifle a snort, though the girl would never have known it.

"Here we are," the ballet instructor stated, breaking the awkward silence that had formed between them. "The ballet dormitories. Well, one of them, at least."

Unlocking the door (Juliet couldn't fathom why such a room would be locked in the first place.), Madame Giry stepped inside. About to follow, the girl stepped forward, only to have the door slammed in her face.

"Uh...hello?" she questioned, her voice laced with annoyance.

A tiny gasp sounded from within the room.

"...Are you all right?"

Coming out rather harshly, the Madame's voice could be heard through the layers of wood between the two.

"Hold on! Stay there, Juliet!"

Sighing, Juliet shook her head. "Alright," she mumbled, stepping closer to the door and pressing her ear to it.

----------------------------------------------------------

The room was dark. The single lamp adorning a simple wooden table had been extinguished years ago. Light had been a myth to that world for some time; and then, quite suddenly, the door had opened, and a whole new world had been exposed. The flicker of candlelight flooded the room for a split second, slanting across the features of a tall, dark man. Out of reflex, the ballet instructor had slammed the door shut, gasping in the process.

She heard a noise, but the words didn't really register in her mind as she watched the giant shadow stalk over towards one of the dusty cots. Stretching his legs out, the Phantom leaned back against the headboard, his feet dangling a few feet off the edge of the tiny bed.

"Madame Giry." He tipped his head in her direction.

Shaking her head, the Madame let out a shaky breath. In all her years of serving the Opera Ghost, she had yet to get used to his sudden - and infrequent - appearances.

"Hold on! Stay there, Juliet!" she shouted, suddenly remembering the girl just on the other side of the door. Letting her eyes rest on the Phantom's face, she met his strange amber orbs. She blinked, averting her gaze to the floor.

"Monsieur?"

He seemed to ignore her silent question.

"Juliet? So, that is her name. Where did you find the wench?"

"You have been following us?" she stated in shock.

A grim smile graced his lips. "I know all that goes on his _my_ theatre."

_His theatre._ Madame Giry winced. He had threatened the previous managers, provoked them, stolen from them, and ultimately burned down the Opera House; yet he still had the arrogance to call this majestic building his. Would he never learn?

"Now," he continued, "Where did you find the girl?"

"On the s-streets." The ballet instructor could have slapped herself for stammering; for showing this deranged man her fear.

The Opera Ghost snorted, tossing his long legs over the side of the bed gracefully.

"Typical." Lifting up, he strode over towards the woman, note in hand. "Next time, inform me before dragging the flea-ridden inhabitants of the Parisian lower class into my Opera House." He thrust the letter into her hands, watching with satisfaction as she snatched it up and quickly tucked it into the folds of her cloak.

"She is but a poor orphan, monsieur. Will you throw her back out on the streets?"

The Phantom's cloak swished as he turned around, flapping against his legs in a enchanting manner. "No."

To his statement, Madame Giry sighed a breath of relief.

"But do not think it is mercy on my behalf. Put her to work. She can clean the floors for all I care. Just keep her out of my way."

"Madame, are you still in there?"

The voice of Juliet startled them both. Antoinette swirled around to face the door. When she turned back, the Phantom was already gone.

"Coming," she murmured.

* * *

Dust. Dirt and grime and cobwebs. Creaky floorboards, molding wallpaper, charred walls. The doorframe was splintered and most of the beds were sunk in. A small family of spiders had taken up residence on the far side of the room in a shady corner. There was a rock shaped hole in the dirty glass window.

_At least the lamp works,_ Juliet thought sarcastically, lighting a match and catching fire to the wick. A soft orange glow flickered warmly in the room. A warmth that didn't seem to spread to her body, as the young girl kept shivering as if it were the dead of winter.

But it wasn't really the cold that made her shudder.

Sighing, she lowered herself onto the only cot with sheets and closed her eyes. Madame Giry had been...civil, to say the least. Downright cold might have been more accurate. After the little...incident...with the door, the woman had had a distant, glazed look in her eyes. After showing Juliet the room, the ballet instructor had snapped at the girl to not break anything - or steal, for that matter - and had taken her leave.

Now, Juliet was all alone. Trapped in a maze with no way out, like it had always been. Except, this time, she really had no other choice but to stay. Where else could she go?

"I wish..." she began, her eyes drooping slightly as a long, silent pause fell over the room.

The spiders scuttled along the floor, making tiny scratching noises. The cobwebs shifted and swayed with the wind coming in through the broken window. Long, steady breaths of a nearby rat echoed quietly inside her head.

"I wish things had been different."

Another long pause, then the girl sighed.

"But nothing will ever change, no matter how hard I wish it."

And with that, Juliet fell asleep.

What she didn't know, was that the calming rhythm of breath had not been a rat's at all.

The Phantom backed into the shadows of his secret passageway, a wooden panel shutting behind him.

* * *

_I know, I know. It's a pretty short chapter, but it had to be written. I tried to toss in some referance as to what exactly the Phantom's emotions are right now. As you can see, he still yearns for Christine and, at the moment, considers Juliet a waste of space (quite literally). I've taken a different turn in how he views her and she views him, so the plot and the whole "I-loved-Christine-but-now-I-love-you" thing will actually make sense. Remember, it takes time for our favorite Opera Ghost to patch up the wounds of the past. Good thing Juliet will be there to help him, no? As before, the original chapter 2 is below. Please review!_

_- Kodu_

* * *

2

Her Curse

After everyone had left from rehearsals Juliet remained. She stayed, sitting at the edge of the stage, legs dangling off the side and gazed out into the darkness before her. The candles throughout the theatre had gone out making the Opera seem even more eerie then it should have. Juliet closed her eyes and embraced the darkness that enveloped her. It wasn't the enemy.

Many times her skin had been saved from thieves and ruffians because she was able to hide in the darkness. She breathed in deeply, reveling in the silence all around her. For the first time that day she could breathe. She could think. Yawning, the young girl got up on her feet and started twirling around stage. She sung out with a voice so pure and sweet it surprised even her.

'Silence!

Darkness stirs, Still unheard.

Pain is!

The memory, Of misery.

My life!

Is at an end, the light has dimmed.

And darkness!

Engulfs my sin, I breathe again.'

Juliet's voice was low and dark. Not once she hit a high note because, quite frankly, she couldn't. Her body started to tingle and she got the sneaking suspicion she was being watched. Her street sense never lied. "Who's there?" She yelled upwards, having heard something moving in the rafters above her. "Hello?" Still nothing. "I _know_ you're there. Show yourself." Juliet tossed up her hands in surrender and stormed off. "Fine, _whatever_. I _don't care_."

Erik couldn't help but smile to himself. She definitely was a fiery one. He hummed her song to himself and continued after her.

Juliet walked along the corridors without so much as a creak from the floorboards. She glanced at a clock off in a corner. Eleven-thirty. Shrugging off sleep, the girl made her way to the room with the piano. She shut the door behind her and slowly made her way towards the instrument. "Now, where was I?" She laughed to herself. "Oh, yes." Sitting down, Juliet once again slid the wood off the keys and placed her hands on them. This time there was no hesitation. She pressed a chord and was delighted that the piano was in tune. In fact, it was _perfectly _in tune. Her face beamed as she played an easy melody she remembered from her past.

Erik smiled as he listened to her play. She was good. For her age, at least. She looked about seventeen or eighteen with dark auburn hair and very dark brown eyes. Her skin was pale, not unnaturally so but much lighter than any one else had seen around the Opera, and she had long, thing legs. Erik shook himself. Why was he even thinking about her details? What was wrong with him? Glancing down on her once again, the Phantom noticed her eyes were closed and her fingers were gliding lightly over the keys. She seemed completely absorbed in what she was playing and looked... Erik's eyes widened. She looked exactly like him when he played his organ!

On her face was an emotionless expression but her playing held all the feelings she possessed. He listened carefully to her song and realized he had never heard it before. It could just be something he was not familiar with, Erik reasoned, but he had the suspicion that this girl had written it. Strange, though, she didn't have any paper to write her thoughts down on.

Her playing began to annoy him slightly. She would break off an exceptionally good sounding piece she was working on and begin something she had fumbled with earlier that was completely different. But, no matter what Erik first saw, he did notice that her level of concentration was amazing. It was up their with his! If she messed up she always went back, working slowly at first, then building it up to normal tempo, before continuing on. And she would play the song perfectly before continuing on to anything else.

Juliet sighed deeply, her arms and back sore from playing so much. She sat in total silence, soaking in all that she had played. "You can come down here, you know." Her words were soft with only the slightest touch of smugness in them. Her ears, trained for listening for danger, had heard the seemingly soft breathing of her follower up above. She turned her head in the direction of the noise, her eyes unafraid of what might await her in the darkness.

Erik was shocked, to say the least. His first initial thought was how did she hear him. After the surprise had faded away he jumped from his position on the balcony and landed softly beside the girl. He looked her up and down, as did she. Juliet _was_ surprised he had _jumped_ down. She didn't mean for him to come like _that_. She inspected the man in front of him, starting at the feet. Black. Okay. Then she looked up. Black vest, black cloak. Weird.

What caught her completely off guard was the mask he wore. One, because it was _there_, and two, after the initial surprise of him wearing a mask she expected it would be _black_. Not wanting to ruin her first impression, Juliet stood up and curtsied as best she could, her not being used to the movement and all. "Nice to meet you...umm...uh..."

Erik knew exactly what she wanted. His name. He ignored the introductions and turned towards the piano. Juliet followed his gaze and smiled. "So, did you like you're private concerto?" Erik's icy blue gaze turned to her and Juliet shivered under that look. "It was okay, but still needs _a lot _of work." He emphasized the words 'a lot' which made Juliet slightly angry. "I'd like to see you do better," he cheery expression completely not fitting for what she had just said.

Erik practically jumped on to the bench and began playing one of his original pieces. He closed his eyes and let the music flood his very being. Not once did he slip up. Everything he did, raising and lowering volume in places, accentuating the saddest, most despairing movements of his piece, added to the beauty of what he played. His mind was gone for these moments and he enjoyed the sheer elation he got every time his hands touched an instrument.

When he was done her looked behind him to find Juliet on her knees, crying. He stared at her, at a loss for words, wondering what deep and horrid emotions he had unlocked to make this young girl wallow in such despair. Her head was in her hands as she wept openly in front of a complete stranger. But when Juliet looked up she had stopped crying, her face still red from silent tears. "Monsieur," she said quietly, not trusting her voice to stay strong.

"That was the most beautiful music I have ever heard. You are..." at this she looked into his cold, blue gaze and smiled warmly. "Amazing." Her smile broadened as she saw the affect her words had on this seemingly cold man. His eyes sparkled slightly and his mouth moved up in a small smile. It vanished in an instant to be replaced with his usual calm demeanor. "What is your name?"

Juliet smiled warmly. "Juliet Sa Malédiction." A flash of confusion came into the masked man's face which he, of course, quickly replaced. "And you, Monsieur? What is your name?" The Phantom flinched on the inside. Christine had never asked him his name. "Erik," he replied hesitantly, backing into the shadows. "Just Erik." Juliet was surprised to find the man disappeared. She shrugged it off and got up. "I never knew," she spoke to herself, "That playing in the night could be so fun." Dusting her dress off, Juliet returned to her room where she presently fell face-first into the softness of her bed.

Erik watched Juliet from the mirror he sat behind. Of course this new girl would have Christine's old room. Fate always seemed to be conspiring against him. Half of him wanted to teach this girl everything he knew. She had such talent. If only she could be taught. But the other half wanted to stay out of it. She held so many secrets, that innocent, naive little girl.

Or was she really that innocent? No, he wouldn't let himself get wrapped up in another woman's life. In anyone life ever again. Just look what happened last time. Erik let out a deep sigh. He nearly killed himself after Christine had left. Would he go through with it if it happened again? Erik twirled around a rose which he held in his gloved hand. But, then again, this girl was so...different. She had a fire to her, and a talent to boost. When they had met she didn't run away in fear. She greeted him like any other many. She even _challenged_ him to play better than her on piano.

And to see the effect his music had on her was both exhilarating and frightening. "Sa Malédiction," Erik whispered to himself as he got up and made the trip back to his lair. "Her curse."

**Authors Note: I forgot to put this in the first chapter...whoops. This is my first FanFic...ever. I hope you like it. The more you review the more I write! Oh, and in case you didn't get it, "Sa Malédiction" means "Her Curse".**


	3. The Body

_Dear Readers,_

_I apologize for the delay. It's been a really busy and hectic past couple of months for me, but hopefully things will be getting better. School is out, which means I will have more time to right. Unfortunately, my muse has decided to become very spastic, and only work at certain times of the day. I apologize for any spelling or grammar mistakes. It is currently 2:30AM, and I am much too tired to go over this chapter as carefully as I would like. Thank goodness for summer, though, as I'll be able to sleep late tomorrow. Once again, I apologize for the wait in this chapter, and I hope you enjoy it!

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The Body

_Monsieur Daniels,_

_I applaud you in your restoration of the Opera Populaire. You have my deepest gratitude for your assistance in these financially troubling times. However, repairs are coming to an end, and the start of our operatic season nears. Work must begin, rules must be laid, and a new chapter in the Opera's management must be written. So, on that note, I bid you welcome to the Opera Populaire; France's greatest theatre, the highlight of Parisian entertainment..._my _opera house. _

_I am sure you have been warned by Ms. Andre and Ms. Firmin of certain...difficulties...within the theatre. Or, if not warned, have at least heard the tales whispered in the hallways. Take heed to rumors, monsieur. They may seem as old wife's tales, but even old wives have some semblance of wisdom in their words. Let me assure you, we can be the most amiable of friends, or the most spiteful of enemies. Either way, my word is law, and is not to be taken lightly._

_You seem a man of sense. Do not let that American pride of yours cloud your vision or threaten your well being. I will give you certain suggestions towards the management of my opera house from time to time. It is known that wisdom is a thing most precious among the hard-hearted and dim-witted these days. All I ask for in return is a monthly salary of twenty-thousand francs and an indefinite seat in Box Five. _

_Requests are things easily broken; demands, easily kept. Do not disappoint me._

_I remain, gentleman, your obedient servant,_

_-O.G.-_

The note lay open on his desk, a hundred messy creases zigzagging through it like the veins of some dark, muscled animal. Jackson Daniels snatched it up for the third time and crumpled it into a ball, turning towards the waste bin, turning around as if changing his mind, and unfolded it to read over the words once again. His empty hand fisted into a tight ball, relaxed, and clenched again. Madame Antoinette Giry eyed the man wearily from her seat before his desk, her guarded eyes scanning his face for any sign of emotion.

It was all there, written plain as day on his features. Agitation, fury, surprise. Monsieur Daniels was, apparently, no Parisian aristocrat. Men of France learn to wear the mask of indifference at a young age; this American could be read like a book.

He made a small sound of disbelief in the back of his throat before turning towards the ballet instructor.

"You're kidding." His accent was heavy, the unfamiliar French words clumsy on his tongue, but anyone could understand his words by the tone of his voice.

"No, monsieur. I do not kid." Her steady gaze proved the truth of her words.

"This has to be a joke!" One calloused hand reached up to tug at the thick black locks sitting atop his head. "I mean, come on. The Phantom of the Opera? I've heard stories, but he's not really real, is he?" The man's deft fingers pulled relentlessly before giving up their assault and settling themselves with running through the manager's hair.

Madame Giry smiled reassuringly. She had come to recognize those movements as a nervous gesture, and God knew this man needed all the comfort he could get while he was still relatively safe.

"I have lived here all my life," she spoke, her smile slowly fading. Daniels gently lowered himself into his seat, fingers arched and elbows resting lightly on his desk as he gave the Madame his full attention. That was one thing Madame Giry liked about the man. He gave everyone his full attention when being spoken to; whether it was to hear the complaints of the scene shifters, or listen to some of the older employee's ranting about the "good ole' days." He treated each person in this theatre as an equal. It made the ballerina instructor wonder about who had taught him such morals. Antoinette had asked him about that once, while they were overseeing the repairs of the Opera Populaire's roof after one of the carpenters complained about the dangers of working so high off the ground.

"Morals are a hard-learned thing out west," he had guffawed, his grin as jovial as a drunkards, though Giry had known by then he wasn't much of an alcoholic. "If you didn't treat your mother right, you were sent to clean the dishes. If you didn't respect your father, you got a whipin' that would sting for days. Those were the worst, the whipin's. Sure, it was an outright shame to be doin' a woman's work, cleanin' and all, but it was ten times worse walkin' around like your pants had ridden up on you, too afraid to sit because your back end stung so much you might burst out in tears any minute."

Madame Giry had laughed at that. Imagining the tall, broad shouldered Daniels - a man formidable enough to make any bar fighter weary -bursting out in tears because of a sore bottom, was too much. He must have felt encouraged at her good humor, because he continued.

"Oh, our lessons are harsh out there in that wild west. Every man is equal, important. We all worked together like the limbs of a single body. You can't go huntin' without legs, you can't hold a gun without hands, and you can't chew your food without a mouth. I imagine the Opera Populaire is the same. You can't have a show without actors, but you can't have a building without carpenters. I suppose I fit in there somewhere by paying off everyone to do what they're supposed to do."

He had shrugged then, as if that little piece of wisdom was just common sense. Funny, how Madame Giry would think of that now, looking at his eyes through his rough hands. Yes, he would do very well here, if Erik's bloody threats didn't do him in, she thought bitterly. This man had a good heart, and a passion for music. Not much of a knowledge, mind you, but he loved it nonetheless. He would do good to listen to the Phantom, if only the resident ghost didn't push him too far.

"I have lived here all my life," she repeated, realizing she had been lost in thought for a few moments. "And have come to find that ghosts are more real than I would have previously thought." She left it at that, and though a curious spark glinted in the manager's eyes, the old ballerina kept her lips sealed.

"'Even old wives tales have some semblance of wisdom'," he quoted from the letter. Jackson glanced from the note, to Madame Giry, then back to the letter again, before a playful smile found its way onto his lips. "Alright. I'll humor this ghost. Imagine, the Phantom of the Opera! I'd heard stories, but the real thing, living here!"

He shook his head while rising from his seat. Antoinette rose with a grace only a ballerina could master, and stepped lightly towards the door; the click click click of her unneeded cane tapping out a rhythm only she heard.

"Madame," he said with a bow as the woman passed. She paused a moment outside the door, and heard Daniels speak to himself.

"All part of one body..." he mumbled sardonically. "I wonder what limb the Phantom is. The brains...or the ass."

_

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_

_Icy fingers..._ _So cold, yet the pain they caused seared like a knife. _

A knife...

_I...I hear it. The drum beats louder...like a...like a..._

_A heart. _

_I hear a heart._

_I hear._

_I...I...I..._

"I can notta' work like dis," came a shout from the hall. It echoed annoyingly throughout the entire theatre, giving the pampered diva, Carlotta Gudicelli, the satisfaction of knowing her voice did not go unheard by anyone. The screech-like noise caused Juliet to jump out of bed in surprise. A cold sweat had broke out on her forehead, the last fragments of dreaded dream fading away as consciousness overtook her. The girl's head throbbed and she tasted salty tears on her lips from where she had cried in her sleep. Pushing aside the dusty sheets and groping around the darkened room, Juliet managed to find the door and thrust the thing open with all her might.

The problem: a pompous soprano stood in the way.

Fortunately for Juliet, the arrogant singer wasn't half as heavy as she looked and was easily pushed out of the way, landing smartly on her backside while stumbling backwards.

Unfortunately for Carlotta, her nose was the main victim for the force of the push.

Blinking in surprise, Juliet could only stare down at the sea of fiery red and orange fabrics pooled just outside her door, concealing a very hot-headed diva. Senora Gudicelli, on the other hand, was far from speechless.

"How dare you!" she shrieked, kicking her feet and flailing her arms as if that would help her to get up. Curses and obscenities flew from her mouth, but Juliet could only focus on one thing.

Her head was pounding and this woman was very loud.

She covered her ears, but the noise rose in waves. Carlotta managed to get up with the help of two frightened looking maids, and came at the girl with hot fury radiating off her. The street girl, out of instinct, jumped back and took off down the hall. Or, at least, she would have taken off if the angry Prima Donna hadn't grabbed hold of her sleeve just before she made the decision. More shouts came from the woman.

Juliet's head felt like it was going to split in two.

In one last act of desperation, the girl whirled around to face the fiery woman.

"Shut up!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, clamping her hands over her ears as her own voice reverberated through the hallway twenty fold. And it worked! She was about to sigh in relief when the screeching woman, shaking herself from the shock of being spoken to in such a way, started yelling once again.

Carlotta took a step forward and clamped a hand onto the girl's wrist, her fingernails digging into the other's flesh. It was at that point for Juliet instinct kicked in.

The woman had lifted her free hand to smack the girl.

Juliet acted first.

A fist slammed into the Prima Donna's jaw.. No cat fights for this street girl. She had learned to fist fight long ago, and found it much more affective than a slap to the face.

The sound of bone popping was sickeningly sweet, echoing through the hallways relentlessly, reminding the girl of her strength, her fearlessness...her desperation.

Carlotta fell back and would have started screaming again had her mouth not hurt so much. Juliet was gone in the blink of an eye, a satisfied smirk upon her features.

"Serves her right," she spoke to herself; something she always did after a fight. It put her mind at ease to hear words of encouragement after such an ordeal, even if they were her own. She flew around a corner, narrowly avoiding a stagehand carrying some giant prop.

"No one fights a street girl, she should have known that." Her paces slowed as she receded further and further away from the scene of the fight. Juliet walked at a leisurely pace down a hallway she had yet to see. Realization that she was completely lost dawned on her, but for some reason it didn't seem that big of a deal. It was more of a nagging thought at the back of her mind rather than an immediate danger, so she ignored it. The sound of feet tapping rhythmically against the floor caught her attention and drew her closer towards one of the many doors in the hallway. Tap tap tap, she heard. Then a short pause, and a thump.

"Ah, no," came a frustrated sigh from inside the room. Juliet moved closer, peering through the keyhole. The room was fairly dark, except for a few candles burning in various areas along the floor. The walls, or what she could see of them, were lined with mirrors and it appeared there were no windows in this particular room. Suddenly a shadow flitted across the wall, it's dark form reflected in the cold glass, and the sight gave the girl a slight chill.

Then the noise came again.Tap tap tap. Pause...thump.

A form appeared in Juliet's line of vision, and her eyes hungrily studied this new apparition. It stretched and swerved, bending and twisting every which way in dark, fluid movements. Two thin arms rose above a tiny body, waving almost seductively, before falling innocently back against the sides of the darkness. This black shadow danced off the near blackness of her eyes, and the girl suddenly thought maybe this was a demon dancing some sacrileges ritual.

"No, no, no!" the form whispered angrily at the empty air. It stopped a moment, catching it's breath, and stepped out of Juliet's line of sight. She nearly sighed out of frustration of her own, when the form came running back into view. Tap tap tap, it's toes hit the ground in three long, graceful movements. There was a pause as it launched into the air, legs outstretched, body practically melding with the air and emotions swirling through it. Then...nothing. It landed soundlessly, arms stretched above in a circle.

"Yes!" came a whoop from the creature, and Juliet laughed lightly. She regretted it as soon as the sound left her lips.

"Who's there?" came the voice again, twirling towards the door. Before Juliet could even move, the wooden barrier was pulled open and candlelight illuminated the form. It turned out not to be a black demon after all.

Instead, a young girl about seventeen, with eyes as wide and innocent as a child's and hair as golden as sunlight, stood before her. Juliet quickly rose from her position kneeling on the floor, and cleared her throat uncomfortably.

"Well...ummm...I didn't mean to intrude. I was just...ah..."

She looked to the girl, hoping for some help in this conversation. Blinking away the surprise of being caught practicing, the young girl curtsied slightly.

"I am Meg Giry."

Juliet smiled and nearly sighed in relief.

"Juliet," she replied, holding out her hand. "Juliet Sa Malédiction."

The blond tipped her head to the side. Sa Malédiction...? But why -"

"You dance wonderfully," the girl cut her off, not wanting to explain her name to the young ballerina.

A bright crimson blush covered the girl's cheeks and she lowered her head, averting her eyes. "Thank you. I didn't know you were watching..."

"Oh, I didn't mean to eves drop or anything, I promise. I was just curious as to who was dancing so wonderfully."

Meg turned a deeper shade of red, if that were possible, and smiled sweetly. "Oh, it's nothing really. I come here sometimes to practice, so the other girls won't laugh if I fall."

"The harsh life of a ballerina, huh?" Juliet said with a grin, turning slightly. "I just woke up a little while ago. Would you care to join me for some breakfast?"

Little Meg giggled, a smile creeping onto her features."It's almost noon."

The street girl made a small noise of shock, then smiled herself. "Lunch, then? I just arrived at the Opera Populaire, and I need all the friends I can get." Her smile grew bigger as she thought of the pompous shrieking woman she had injured earlier. If luck was on her side, the woman wouldn't recognize her later on. But for now, she would enjoy what precious little freedom she had until Madame Giry decided to put her to work.

Meg nodded and took off down the hall with Juliet by her side, talking about the inner workings of the Opera, asking how Juliet came to be here, and offering to tour her around the building.

"Giry, you said it was?" Juliet asked, as an afterthought.

The little girl nodded happily, her blond curls bouncing up and down.

"I met your mother earlier..."

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_Once again, below is the original chapter 3. Please review!_

_Kodu

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3

His Failure

Life soon fell into a normal, if not mediocre, lifestyle for Juliet. Since she had no talent 'as of yet evaluated' she had become the news runner - a position created just for her - for everyone at the Opera.

Though Juliet much rather preferred to call herself the gossip runner.

Her job: to deliver messages to the other people around the theatre.

Sometimes it was something important, like a casting change for an upcoming play or that someone's salary was due. But most of the time it was just gossip amongst the actors and stagehands. 'Go tell such-and-such that he said he thinks he might like her if her friend says she thinks she thinks she likes him' was the most common message Juliet had gotten so far.

Ah, to be young and in love!

Juliet broke out laughing as she ran to deliver one of these very messages. _Ah, to be young and naive! _she thought hysterically.

No, Juliet had never fallen in love. And she didn't plan on doing it anytime soon either.

The girl rapped on the door lightly and was surprised to find another girl come out. But this love letter was from a girl... "Er...umm..." Juliet mumbled. "Yes?" said the woman patiently. "Is there a monsieur in residence here?" The other girl looked just as confused as Juliet. "No mademoiselle." Juliet cocked her head. "Oh. It's just...you see...I had a message for Jame-"

The girl smiled politely. "Yes, that's me. My name is Jaime but some of my friends call me James."

Now Juliet was not only confused but a little frightened as well. "Well," said the girl in the doorway. "What's the message?"

Juliet noticed the ballerina gowns scattered about the woman's room, smiled politely, and lied like she'd never lied before. "Oh, your friend Margaret said you did wonderful performing today."

The girl blushed. "Oh that Margaret is such a doll_." _

_I'll bet she is, _thought Juliet.

"Tell her I said thank you." The girl nodded and ran down the hallway. Rounding a corner, Juliet tossed the note into a waste basket. There was just some things you couldn't ask a girl to do.

_That, _Juliet thought with a shake of her head, _was definitely one of them._

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The weeks passed by quickly. Madame Giry had pretty much forgotten about the little urchin she had saved from the streets and Meg had decided Juliet didn't really need a tutor, seeing as how the young girl had adapted so quickly to life at the Opera.

They did, however, become very good friends and made it a point that they see each other every day.

In one of these meetings in Christine's old room - which had, to her delight, become Juliet's room - the street girl had asked about the strange man she had met in the piano room. Meg had been overcome with fear and wonder as Juliet retold how he had jumped from the balcony, played the most beautiful song she had ever heard, then presently disappeared into the shadows.

Meg had then begum to relate the story of the Phantom of the Opera to her.

She started at the beginning, with the arrival of the two new managers Andre and Firmin. Her eyes got wide as she told about the strange letters and the disappearance of Christine. Meg had tossed her hands in the air while telling of the performance of _Duan Juan Triumphant_. She lowered her voice to just above a whisper as she told of the choice Christine took, as related to her by Mademoiselle Daae herself, down in the dungeons of the Opera House.

All-in-all, when Meg was done she was out of breath.

"That's horrible," Juliet said, her voice raised. Meg was nodding in agreement.

"That monster! How could Christine do that to him?"

Meg was caught in mid-nod.

"No, Mademoiselle, you have it all wrong. The Phantom is the monster. He tried to...well, he..."

Juliet faced Meg with a smug look. "All that man ever did was love unconditionally. That's all."

Meg's eyes widened, but she knew she saw the reason in this.

The clock struck twelve. "Oh, I really must be leaving, Juliet! Goodnight!" The little ballerina strode over to the door. "Goodnight, Meg," Juliet called back as she left. Her limbs ached from a hard days work of running. She slipped her clothes from her body and crawled into bed. "That poor man," she said just before drifting off to sleep.

And that is how Juliet learned of the Phantom's failure.

The Phantom himself lay behind the mirror, tears forming in the edges of his eyes that he never let fall.


End file.
